The Case Of the MissingDead People
by Child Of Old
Summary: John was left alone when Sherlock died. So when he turns back up again, alive, with a pretty young woman at his side, with a case to solve, John soon learns how much Sherlock really needs them. Espically when they're all about to be killed...
1. Sherlock Talks to the Dead

_**Chapter One**_

"You're supposed to be dead."  
>"Yes, but I do find being dead rather tiresome. Can I come in?"<br>I stepped back to allow Sherlock Homes into my flat.  
>"I see you've learnt some manners since we last met. Let's see how long that lasts, shall we?"<br>"Probably not very long once you start questioning me which, if I remember correctly, you do after coffee."  
>"I was waiting for you so that shouldn't take long. We know each other too well to tell each other lies." I sat him down in the living room and handed him his coffee. He didn't drink coffee very often but I still gave it to him, milk, no sugar, because it was our little thing, a little thing we'd done together for so long.<br>He took a polite sip and placed it on the side, putting his long fingers together so he could survey me.  
>"How are you, Kathleen? Last I heard, you were dead."<br>I waved my fingers airily.  
>"As you said, being dead can getting rather boring. I don't get many visitors. It's good for the dead to keep each other company, though, I always find."<br>"How many are left of us now?"  
>"Not many. Just me, you and David."<br>Sherlock snorted disgustedly.  
>"I never liked him."<br>I smiled slightly.  
>"Yes, I know. You know, he's the only one out of the three of us who isn't technically dead."<br>"Well, he always did stay out of the fun."  
>I smiled again and placed my own coffee on the side.<br>"Indeed." I paused for a heartbeat. Sherlock wasn't the only one who'd learnt matters. "What are you doing here, Sherlock? Miss a lover, a friend, a colleague? I had those feelings when I first died. Don't worry, you get over it."  
>Sherlock pursed his lips in thought.<br>"Yes, I had thought that but these feelings just persisted. I got bored with them making me feel rather sickly things."  
>I leant forward.<br>"So you came to me. Why?"  
>"You're the only one who I could go to, Kathleen. You're like me, exactly like me, like Moriaty, only you're different, you're a girl, you've always had feelings and ideas but you've learnt to control them, manage them. You've survived in this world like none of the rest of us have, and why is this? It's because you're Kathleen Arcile, the cleverest person in the world, or at least as far as I know, clever then me but I'd never admit it and yet you can survive in this world as I never had. You've protected all of us for a number of years now. Why Kathleen? You asked me why I came to you, Katie. You asked me why. So maybe I'll ask you this question, why were you waiting for me?"<br>"Because you're my friend." I answered instantly. "I've protected you as you've protected me. It's how our friendship works, Sherlock."  
>"Exactly."<br>"So, you want me to stop protecting you."  
>"You've learnt well."<br>I gave him a tight smile.  
>"I was always better then you Sherlock. You want me to go to your friends and lovers and whatever to tell them you're alive yet not tell them where you are."<br>"Well done."  
>"That's not it, is it Sherlock?"<br>"I thought you were clever."  
>"I thought you were nice. We're both right in our own different ways."<br>"I want you to give me a new identity."  
>"I can't do that."<br>"Why not."  
>"Because you're Sherlock Holmes. And I sure would hate to change that pretty face of yours."<br>"Get over yourself, Katie, you're starting to sound normal."  
>"I'm not normal."<br>"I know."  
>"By that way, how is Moriaty?"<br>"Don't worry; your sister's lap dog is safe. Just a bit dead."  
>"Yes, she always had a preference to him. I could never understand why."<br>"Yes, nobody else could either."  
>"She'll be upset he's dead. She'll be after you."<br>"Wasn't she always?"  
>"She'll be on the war path."<br>"My favourite kind."  
>"She won't stop."<br>"I'm dead, remember?"  
>I grinned at him, leaning back again.<br>"Yes, so am I. Yet here we are. Funny how that happens, isn't it?"  
>"Hilarious. So will you do it?"<br>"Do what?"  
>"Don't act dumb, Katie, you're far too clever for that."<br>"Yes, I am rather, aren't I?"  
>"Don't be a show off."<br>"Just seeing how you like it."  
>"I don't like it. I'm the only show off in this partnership. It's why our relationship works."<br>"So you take and I give?"  
>"I gave you a lot years ago."<br>I looked at him consideringly, my eyes drifting back to memories long since suppressed. We weren't going to talk about that though.  
>"Yes. And I loved you for it. Then you abandoned me."<br>He paused.  
>"I thought you'd forgiven me for that."<br>"Oh, I have. Doesn't mean I trust you though."  
>"So you'll do it?"<br>"Of course I will. A dead friend who comes back from the grave with the help of his cleverer friend just to sooth friends and solve a case? Wouldn't miss it for the world."  
>"I didn't mention a case.<br>"Don't be dim, Sherlock."  
>He paused again, his brown eyes twinkling across at me.<br>"This should be fun. I've been so bored lately."  
>I nodded, agreeing with a slight smile.<br>"I know. It 'sucks' being dead."


	2. The Dead Meets John Watson

_**Chapter Two:**_

"I'm sorry, why are you here again?" 

I jerked my head up from where I was mulling around in the apartment, having momentarily forgotten that Dr John Watson was even in the room.

"Oh, I'm sorry, my name is Kathleen Arcile."

I held out my hand to him, unsure whether I'd done this with him already or if I'd just wandered into his apartment and started checking out Sherlock's things, most of which looked like John hadn't even touched.  
>John snorted, looking ever so slightly annoyed.<p>

"Yes, I know who you are. We did that about ten minutes ago. We were having a conversation, remember?" 

I blinked.

"We were?" 

John nodded, sighing deeply and resting his forehead in his hands.

"God you're worse then him." He muttered before he stiffened, like he was in some sort of pain.

I watched with interest. Is this how people really mourn? Do they _really _care that the person was gone?

"Worse then who? Sherlock? I can assure you I am far better then him."

I was ever so slightly insulted by the insinuation that I was anywhere near as bad as Sherlock Holmes with manners. I'd been taught them. And my therapist had said I was getting better before he conveniently 'caught' amnesia and I died. 

"And haven't you researched my name yet?" I frowned at him, suddenly annoyed. "And you said you were living with Sherlock Holmes for _how _long?" 

John looked taken aback for a second.

"I never said I'd lived with Sherlock Holmes. In fact, I never even mentioned his name. How in gods name do _you _know about Sherlock Holmes?" Suddenly, he jerked threateningly. "You're not one of those journalists, are you?" 

"If I was do you think I would admit it?" I asked dryly. "Then ask you to search up my name? Don't be stupid. Just do it."

John cast me one more suspicious glance and started to tap away at his laptop. I started prowling in the living room, finding little traces of Sherlock every where. Especially the fingers in the fridge. I wrinkled my nose. John hadn't got rid of those yet?

"Here it is." John suddenly cried out. "Stripper Kathleen Arcile is proud to announce her pregnancy with Prime Ministers bab-" 

"Next one." I ordered him hurriedly, giving him a pointed look. "Honestly, do I look pregnant?"

John shook his head, looking ever so slightly embarrassed.

"No, sorry." He tapped once more until he frowned. "Are you Kathleen Elizabeth Arcile?" 

I nodded encouragingly.

"You're suppose to be dead." He stated.

I grinned hugely at him, throwing myself down onto the sofa and picking up an apple, eating it, still smiling.

"I know, funny how that happens isn't it? Sherlock and I were talking this morning about it-"

"Sherlock Holmes is dead." John cut in harshly. "He's been dead for almost six months. Don't play with me, little girl."

I blinked, counting back the dates in my head.

"Hey, what do you know, it has been almost six months, hasn't it?" I shrugged and took another bite from my apple. "Anyway, I'm suppose to have been dead for what?" I counted back the dates in my head again. "Almost three years? God, how dull. I'm sorry, I'm really bad with time."

Meanwhile, John was staring at me like I'd gone mad. Which I hadn't. I was clinically proven sane. I had a certificate and everything to prove it.

"Wait-stop right there." He ordered, placing his head in his hands again.

I stopped. Took a bite of my apple. Waited. Got bored.

"Well?" I finally asked impatiently. "What am I waiting for?"

He ignored me.

"So you're saying Sherlock Holmes, who I saw jump from a building roof, is actually alive?"

I nodded vigorously.

"Yes. He's currently outside." I then cocked my head to one side. "Well, he's rather impatient to get in here, isn't he?"

John gave me a look.

"How would you know that? I already know all of Sherlock's tricks. There's no possible way you could've known that he's-"

"He's on a step ladder." I pointed out the window and John jerked around, only to have to come face to face with Mr Sherlock Holmes himself, who was cracking the window open and sliding inside.

"There." He said, straightening himself and brushing off his coat. "Hello John." He then looked at me. "He looks rather shocked. You did tell him, didn't you?"

I shrugged.

"Yes, I did. You know what normal people are like, no belief in the truth but belief in myths. He didn't believe me."

"Hm." Now Sherlock frowned at John. "I thought I trained you better then this." He then shrugged and started striding around the room like a mad man. I tucked my legs up under me and watching him with my eyes, barely moving my head.

Sherlock stopped, before looking at John again.

"No matter, we've got a case to solve which involves a lot of people who are dead, but not really, kind of like me and Katie except for the fact that they faked their deaths so badly that even Mycroft saw threw it so-"

"Wait!" John's tone had gone louder and he was turning ever so slightly more red by the second. His hands gripped the arm chair and his eyes bulged, his eyebrows furrowing together as they locked on Sherlock. "You're suppose to be dead. _Dead_. That means never coming back. And yet you are here. And you expect me just to carry on with a _case_?" 

Sherlock blinked.

"You are right, of course John." He inclined his head. "I should've given you some prier warning that Katie will be living with us. No matter, I'm sure you'll get over it. Now-"

"No, Sherlock." John cut him off with a barely concealed snarl. "This is not about your pretty young friend who you got this _insane _idea from."

I blinked, sitting up straighter in my chair and feeling the hairs at the back of my neck start to rise.

"The idea wasn't insane. It was practical. And no way did I help Sherlock commit a fake death. He had far to many options but he did it to save _you_. Even though you are being completely and utterly unreasonable right now." I gave him a pointed look. "I faked my own death to keep myself alive. I divorced myself from everybody so they wouldn't get hurt. There was nobody else in the firing line except _me_. Sherlock could've sorted his problems out with a click of his fingers. But he didn't. Because Moriarty had assassins trained on you, Mrs Hudson and that police officer who had abandoned him. He gave up everything to save you three. You'd think you'd just be a little more grateful and considerate, wouldn't you?" I finished with a deep, emotional sigh.

Sherlock cast his eyes towards me and came over, awkwardly placing one hand on my shoulder.

"There, there Katie. No need to get emotional, it'll only upset John. He hates it when females cry."

John let out a sound, half laugh, half sob before collapsing his head in his hands once more, nodding mechanically.

"Yeah, yeah. It's definitely Sherlock Holmes. Hah! Back from the dead. Well, if anybody could do it it was him. Hah!" He seemed to be talking more to himself then either me or Sherlock.

I unfolded my legs from beneath me and reached out, like I was about to touch him but I didn't. Sherlock's hand tightened visibly on my shoulder.

"Are you over it now?" I asked quietly, hesitantly. "Are you angry, or sad?"

To be honest, I was a bit confused at what I was feeling at that moment, never mind John.

John looked up and straight at me, seeing me for the first time since I'd arrived. He looked straight into my eyes and I froze, like a rabbit trapped in head lights. He nodded with a small smile.

"Yes, I'm fine. Fine." He nodded with more conviction this time. He sighed and looked at me again. "At least you've got more feelings them him." He nodded towards Sherlock. "And your prettier."

I smiled slightly as Sherlock let out a sound of irritation, letting go of my shoulder to start pacing again.

"That would be because she's a _girl _John." He groused. "Now, I'm bored. Let's go before this case grows tedious in my mind."

I sighed and stood up, John at the same time.

"Everything grows tedious in your mind once it's been there for a while." I pointed out, taking my coat from where John stood, silently offering it to me. I smiled at him.

"Exactly." Sherlock cried before seizing the door handle. "Let's go solve a case!"

"It's cold." I whined, jumping up and down on the spot where we stood in the middle of the field. "What are we still doing here? We already know the victim faked his death here before going into those woods." I pointed into the woods. "So why aren't we following case lead?"

"Be still, Katie, and John will lend you his coat." Sherlock ordered me, waving his hand towards where John stood. John looked up, startled, before groaning and starting to shrug out of his jacket.

I held up my hands and rejected it softly with a smile and a shake of my head.

"No thanks." I mouthed before tapping on Sherlock's shoulder. He whirled on me, eyes blazing with anger.

"Be quiet!"

"We didn't say anything!" John shouted back at him.

"No, but you were thinking. Especially her." He pointed accusingly at me.

I poked my tongue out at him.

"I have a name, you know." I pointed out. "And you're just angry because I've already solved why the victim did it here and where abouts he would've gone."

John gaped at me.

"You're faster then Sherlock Holmes?"

I grinned over my shoulder at him.

"Of course I am." I felt my features darken slightly but tried to keep them bright. "I always have been ever since-"

"He doesn't know." Sherlock cut in softly. "He doesn't know anything about what happened to you and the others."

"And to you." I whispered quietly so John couldn't hear. He was already throwing up his hands and demanding to know what we were going on about.

"Nothing that I won't probably tell you in a rant in the next six months." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Do be quiet, John, I'm trying to catch up with Katie."

Then, his eyes lit up. "I got it!" He cried, running around like a lunatic before coming to a stop before John. "Your tiny mind didn't even get it. Have you not been excersizing it whilst I was away." He then turned and looked at me. "Shall we?" He offered his arm.

I grinned and took it.

"We shall."

And we both bounced towards the forest, John following us declaring us both mad. Which we probably were. But at least I had the governments certificate thing proving I was sane.

Well. Partly, anyway.


	3. The Dead Gets Accused

_**Chapter Three:**_

"The victim had a get away car." John clarified, following after Sherlock and me as we scoured the forest frantically, looking for clues.

Sherlock gave him a 'duh' look.

"I thought we'd established that ten minutes ago." His head ducked again and he started running around once more, bumping into me occasionally and making me fall onto a pile of leaves.

He did this presently and I was knocked over once more and had the wind knocked out of me. I gasped, hand on chest, whilst John ran over to me and Sherlock sent me a quick apology before once again moving away. I started giggling rather hysterically whilst John held out his hand and pulled me to my feet.

He glanced at me worriedly and slipped an arm around my waist as my legs gave away from underneath me and I continued to laugh.

"Sherlock?" John called, keeping a tight hold of my waist. "Whats wrong with Katie?"

Sherlock looked up, glanced at me and approached me, sniffing around my body and wandering fingers along my skin. I giggled some more and grasped his face, bringing him so he looked at me.

"You're really handsome." I told him seriously before cracking up and diving for his lips. Sherlock quickly dodged out of the way, making me pout and John got a firmer grip on me. I pouted.

"Aw." I squealed. "I really wanted to kiss you." I suddenly blinked. "And you really wanted to kiss me. Your elevated pulse and your dilated pupils are the first clue. The second clue was when you hesitated before moving, as if you were deciding whether to just let me kiss you or not. Now you're breathing heavily like you've run a long race and you're staring at John with an emotion I've never seen before, probably jealousy which is a bit strange when neither of you like me that much." I stopped, blinked, then giggled a bit more. I looked up at John and Sherlock in puzzlement. "Oh, gosh, where did that come from?"

"What's wrong with her?" John demanded frantically, juggling me as I tried to get away from him.

Sherlock shrugged, rummaging in his coat pocket for something.

"Some delusion drug." He explained, finally bringing out a small, corked bottle which was full of white powder.

He reached forward as if to hand it to John, before quickly retracting his hand and taking an awkward step towards him. I watched him with interest, which he completely ignored, before slipping his arm around my waist and retrieving me from Johns arms.

He bent me backwards over his arm and swiftly uncorked the bottle. He held it up to the light, nodded (Obviously deeming it worthy) before lifting it to my lips.

"Whats that saying you used to say to me, Katie?" He asked, his eyes glinting as he moved the bottle, gently prising my lips open. "Oh yes. Bottoms up."

And he threw the powder back down my throat.

I choked, retched, spluttered, which caused John to almost wrestle me from Sherlock's arms (And fail to rescue me) and accuse Sherlock of using me for one of his wretched tests.

"Oh, do be quiet John, if the real Katie was here she'd understand. And besides, that wasn't one of my tests, I could never do that to her, I'd be to scared to do it." Sherlock started stalking off, not in anger but more in irritation. He wanted to get back to his precious case which I had then delayed. And he had left me, unassisted, standing in the middle of a forest with two potentially harmful drugs inside me.

"Then what was it, Sherlock?" John demanded as I swayed woozily on my feet. He caught me and lowered me down onto the ground. "What's wrong with her?"

"Don't be irritating, John, she's fine. I just gave her an anti thing to the drug, she'll be fine once she's recovered consciousness."

"Sherlock." John said, his voice dangerously calm. "She's not _un_conscious."

Sherlock eyed me with interest, coming over and giving me a light tap on the cheek whilst his eyes roamed my face worriedly, even if he didn't want to admit it.

"Oh yes, so she is. It usually takes about ten seconds to knock them out but, knowing Katie, she probably had some delay drug inside her which would've given her time to alert somebody to her drug addled state before she passed out. If she was acting like the real Katie that was." He stood up again and started striding off. "Don't worry John, she'll be out in a few seconds."

"Sherlock, are you sure that this is safe for-"

Black.

When I came round we were back at the apartment. John was sitting, reading the news paper with a cup of tea in his hand. Sherlock was inspecting the fingers he had left in the fridge.

I stayed quiet for a bit, basking in the glowing delight of having company. I then tried to shift so I had a better view of everybody, but moving my body, I discovered, was painful and I couldn't resist the groan that escaped my throat. John's head jerked up and his eyes locked with my face before he gave me a small smile.

"Hey again." He smiled, taking a measured sip of his tea. "Welcome back to the land of the living. Are you ok?"

I groaned and heaved myself up so I was resting against the arm of the sofa.

"Never better." I nodded, making my voice so obviously sarcastic that even Sherlock Holmes could understand it. "And in case you've forgotten, I'm legally dead. I'll never go back to the land of the living."

John clearly didn't know what to do with that little piece of information so he simply nodded jerkily, uncomfortably, and got up.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Biscuit?" 

"She lives here now John, she can get her own things." Sherlock said from the dinning room.

I ignored him and smiled reassuringly at John.

"No thank you. It's awfully nice of you to have asked me though. Some men are _such gentlemen_!" I said the last few words with a raised voice, hoping to catch Sherlock's ever such fickle attention.

He glanced up and gave me a thing that might have passed for a Sherlock smile.

"I believe the phrase is 'chivalry is dead'." He quoted.

I grunted as I shifted again.

"Obviously it is in you." I moaned.

He returned to his inspection of the fingers.

"How you feeling, Katie? Woozy, sick, like you want to act like a normal woman?" He continued to talk to me whilst not seeming interested in the conversation at hand.

"I think I'd know if I had symptoms I shouldn't be having. I'm better then you, remember?" I cringed as I tried to move into a comfier position. "And thanks for that. I feel worse then I did when you tested on me that Christmas."

I thought I saw Sherlock grin.

"Yes well, you had had it coming. You were holding my skull ransom."

John turned to me, an awed expression on his face.

"You touched his skull?" He asked, amazed. "You managed to hold it to ransom."

"Don't get any ideas John, she's the only one who can do it." Sherlock said sharply.

John turned with a slightly raised eyebrow to look at him.

"You seem to have a lot of exceptions for her." He said, albeit curiously.

"Yes. Funny how that happens, isn't it."

Then, suddenly, there was a faint noise in the back ground.

"Car." Sherlock and I said at the same time, not even looking up from what we were doing and only alerting John to its presence.

"Police car." I explained when John looked confused. "Parking outside the house. Probably Lestrade and them."

John suddenly looked panicked.

"Then why aren't you worrying?" He asked. "You two are _dead _remember? You should be hiding from anybody, _especially _the police."

Sherlock's head jerked up and he looked across at us.

"Oh yes, we are suppose to be dead, aren't we Katie?" He said in an enlightened voice before returning to his fingers.

"They won't care about me." I tried to soothe John.

"Actually, they will. Remember, you have lots of information on them, they've all got your picture on their wall." Sherlock said.

I blinked.

"Oh yeah."

John was now getting agitated, especially when the doorbell went and Mrs Hudson called out that she'd get it.

"Go, hide. Now!" He hissed at us, half dragging us into the back bedroom as we moaned and complained. I hissed as he jerked me too hard and he apologized, even as he locked me in Sherlock's bedroom with Sherlock himself.

Sherlock looked at me. I raised an eyebrow and sat down on his bed.

"No way." I said firmly. "Just eavesdropping."

Sherlock moaned and groaned but complied.

"Hello John. How you holding up?" We heard Lestrade ask.

"Better. Though I don't appreciate having those two in the flat." John's voice was cold, icy, sharp.

"Hey, it wasn't our fault he went and topped himself." Donovan and Anderson cried out together.

"Topped myself!" Sherlock whispered indignantly. "I didn't _top _myself. I threw myself from a building. There's a difference."

"Shush!" I shushed him before returning to our conversation.

"I know we're the last people you want to see right now..." Lestrade started again when John let out a sarcastic laugh.

"Damn straight."

"But we've had some sightings. They're vague and unsure, but people think they've seen Sherlock Holmes out and about."

"Impossible. I saw Sherlock Holmes die. There is a gravestone out there with his name on it to prove it. So stop playing with me and get out."

John sounded pretty convincing too.

"No, listen John, this is serious. It's Sherlock Holmes we're talking about. He can do anything if he wants too. And we think he got the idea from somebody else."

"Who could have possibly done the same thing?"

"Shit!" I whispered. "They're onto us!"

Sherlock gave me a look.

"I think that would be highly ambitious of them, don't you?"

I shrugged my shoulders from where I was sat, crouched under his leaning form, and continued to listen in.

"A certain Miss Kathleen Arcile."

"The stripper who's suppose to be pregnant with the prime ministers baby?"

I gritted my teeth. Knew that was going to come up again.

"No, a different one. This one was very smart, maybe even smarter then Sherlock. She charmed everybody who met her and could figure out things like that." I heard Lestrade click his fingers. "She knew a lot of things that she wasn't suppose to know. By the supposed end of her life, the government were after her, the police were after here, several gangs were after her. And she could've beaten them all with a few simple sentences and a flash of her famous smile. She was only twenty one when she apparently died. Too young for her to have ended her life."

I blinked. I had a famous smile? Huh. Who knew?

"Then why did she apparently fake her death?"

"Kathleen Arcile wasn't stupid, John. She knew that she could do more damage from afar if nobody knew she was there. Like a shadow, only more dangerous. She was a lovely woman, but she knew her stuff."

"Damn straight." I muttered, repeating John's earlier phrase.

"So? Why did she pretend to die? To do some more damage?"

"Maybe. We don't know why she pretended to die. We have our theory's, of course, but those can only be confirmed by Miss Arcile herself."

"Pity she's dead, though, isn't it? Is that all, inspector?"

"Not so fast, John. About three months ago a former member of one of the gangs who was after her received a text message. Mycroft Holmes received a letter. And my boss received an email."

"So?"

"They were all from Kathleen?"

"How could they know? I thought she was suppose to be smart. She wouldn't sign her name if she didn't want to be found."

"It was her M.O. And besides, she had a certain way with words. And a certain catch phrase, kind of like the one Irene Adler used on John sometimes."

John was getting irritated. I could tell.

"What was..._is _this catch phrase?"

Lestrade paused.

"_Heard you've turned into a bore. Pity. Catch me if you can._" He finally confessed.

I froze. Yes, that was the phrase I often used to conclude things of contact. But I hadn't been in contact with anybody like that for three years. How incredibly interesting that somebody was trying to imitate me. And how terribly ambitious.

"Seems a bit long to be a catch phrase." John was saying.

"More like a signing off, really. A playful banter. But it's not so funny once she holds the secrets that could bring each and every single person in the world to their knees."

Sherlock looked down on me. I shrugged.

"Not _every _single person." I told him. "Just 99.999 recurring percent of the population."

Sherlock snorted.

"What's this got to do with me?" John was still asking.

"We are now pretty sure both Sherlock and Kathleen are alive. And they were good friends a long time ago. Along with a few others. And they were very similar. If they got bored, they'd look for excitement. But they also had feelings, unlike the rest of their group. If they were alive, they'd contact you. If they do, will you contact me."

"No."

"John, don't be like that."

"You drove my best friend to his death and you boss sent an innocent young girl to her grave. I have nothing more to say to you. Get out of my flat."

I heard some shuffling and presumed them too be leaving. There was a pause.

"Think about it, will you John?" He asked before closing the door firmly behind him.

"Only in hell." John muttered as both Sherlock and I waited for the sound of the car that was driving off.

"Hah! Like I'd ever do something as stupid as that!" I shouted as I pushed through the door, stumbling a bit as my knees went weak underneath me.

Sherlock caught me around my waist and lowered me down rather distantly onto one of the dinning room chairs.

"Careful, you'll still be weak from the drugs." He instructed mildly. "Don't be stupid."

"So, you're saying you didn't send those letters?" John crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me hesitantly.

I through up my hands.

"Of course I didn't!" I shouted, choking a bit.

Sherlock lifted his frozen fingers from the glass frame and replaced them in the fridge.

"It does sound like something we would do if we were bored." Sherlock pointed out as he sat back down, carefully grasping my finger tips and bringing them to rest delicately under his magnifier.

"Yes. But I had my hand gun. I had a numerous amount of animals and a number of ways to kill them."

"There were no animals when I was there."

"I'd killed them all."

John shook his head, unable to believe it.

"You two are crazy. Utterly crazy."

Sherlock glanced up.

"Yes, well it's this crazy idiot who just worked out what drug was used of Katie and how the victim got away."

I smiled and flicked my hair back with one, uncontaminated hand.

"Well. It's about time." I smiled.


	4. The Dead breaks into a Police Station

_Chapter Four:_

The boredom of Sherlock Holmes is a sight to behold indeed. Unlike me, who simply battered pillows and told everybody who would listen in rather loud tones that I was _so bored_ Sherlock had actually picked up a hand gun and started shooting at the wall.

I had thought that somebody would protest. Nobody did.

"He does it all the time." John confided in me as we sipped our warm drinks, watching as Sherlock declared himself so very bored and fired at the wall once more.

"He does?" I raised my eyebrows at John and lent closer so I could hear over the firing of the hand gun. "Why?"

"Because he's bored." John shrugged. "Why does Sherlock do anything?"

I shrugged, recognising the truth in this fact as I observed both men over the rim of my mug. They really were quite different, yet they lived so harmoniously together. I looked over at John again. I supposed he was the rock, the thing that kept Sherlock grounded. I shuddered to remember what Sherlock was like in the past.

I frowned suddenly. Did I need somebody to keep me grounded? To keep me sane, to make me a better person?  
>No, I had feelings. Then again, there had been that incident with the animals...<p>

No! That was Sherlock's doing! He forced me! _He forced me!_

But, no, he didn't.

I swung my gaze back to Sherlock and glared at him.

"You can't blame me for everything, Katie." Sherlock pointed out, firing a shot.

John jerked in his seat.

"Sherlock." He said warningly. "She's our new house mate. No need to be rude. She didn't say anything."

I poked my tongue out at him, leaning even closer to John then before.

"So there."

I felt a feeling, so akin to triumph, though I hadn't felt that since I was a child so I couldn't be sure.

"You're so childish sometimes, Katie." Sherlock grumbled, closing his eyes and ducking his head under his arm.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Right, that's it." John heaved himself to his feet and grabbed Sherlock, twisting his grip until he let go of the gun. John backed away, waving it warningly. "No more, ok? Or Mrs Hudson will just have to spend another fortune of repairing the wall."

"That's ok, we'll pay her, you've got money, don't you?" Sherlock was moving agitatedly, flopping down onto the arm chair, crossing his legs, tapping his toe for a bit before jumping up and pacing the floor again. "God, I'm so bored! Nicotine patches, that what I need."

He started frantically searching the fireplace, the widow sill, the fridge, moving swiftly from one place to another whilst John sighed and crossed his arms over his chest and waited with a weary expression until Sherlock turned to face him again.

"Where are they?" he demanded roughly. "The Nicotine patches that I kept hidden, where are they?"

"I threw them out when you were dead." John admitted. "Sherlock, stop, that was hardly my fault!" He cried after him as Sherlock let out a large groan and started to stride away again. "Sherlock!"

"Is he usually like this?" I whispered to John, who turned on me and gave me an apologetic look. I waved it away, knowing that I often acted in a much worse way when I was bored.

"Sherlock, you're not usually like this when you're on a case!" John started to pace after him, but Sherlock was too quick, moving around and around, sitting beside me, sitting on the window sill, sitting on the dinning room table, slamming doors, attempting the grab the gun off John, anything to stop the feeling of frustration, the feeling of such boredom that clutched at his stomach like a vice grip, that gnawed away inside you until you felt like you were going to spontaneously combust.

"Yes, but the outside, John, the outside!" Sherlock whirled at him, flinging his hands around like a mad man.

John frowned.

"He wants to go outside but he can't at risk of getting caught." I translated, taking my last gulp of coffee before rising to place it by the dishwasher.

"Well, you could figure out a way to tell Lestrade about what you found without making him know it was you." John suggested weakly, catching Sherlock's arm and turning him to face him. "Sherlock! Bloody listen to me."

Sherlock's eyes roamed his face, not really seeing him.

I started to go into the room I had been allocated, Sherlock's room funnily enough as, as John had said, Sherlock mostly slept of the sofa anyway.

"We've already got that covered!" I called, ever so slightly annoyed that he hadn't figured it out yet.

"What?" John's face appeared in the doorway before he rolled his eyes and ducked out again. "Of course you have." He grumbled.

"John, I am so bored! Katie can go outside, nobody except the police would recognise her unless they looked really hard. You can go outside, you're still alive. But me, the cleverest of us all!" Sherlock threw up his hands, spinning away from us.

"And my frozen fingers!" Sherlock then collapsed on the sofa, cursing everybody and everything in existence.

"There, there Sherlock." I gave him a look as I re-entered the main flat. "At least you know you are stupid enough to stay inside. I'm clever then you, remember?"

Sherlock looked up and raised an accusing finger at me.

"You," He said in a deathly serious tone. "Deserve to be thrown off a bridge and die for real. I think I might do that myself. Today, in fact." he raised himself as if he was going for me.

I raised any eyebrow at him.

"I think that would be terribly ambitious of you, don't you think so?" I asked and Sherlock gave me a glazed look.

"Not," He gritted out. "If I manage to do it."

"Ugh!" John groaned, whirling around and heading into his own room. "I've had it up to here with the two of you! If you want to fight, fine! Fight! But don't expect me to be there when you are! I'm going shopping."

I sniffed.

"Well, it's hardly my fault if he's stupid enough to think he can beat me in an argument, is it?" I asked innocently enough.

John came out and came me a warning look.

"Don't provoke him, Katie." He warned as he picked up the shopping list from the counter. "When I get back I want to see _you, _not your blood all over the carpet."

He turned to Sherlock.

"Same with you. She's a girl. You're not allowed to hurt girls."

Sherlock raised his head to glare at both of us.

"That's a stupid, sexist rule." He pointed out, but reluctantly nodded when John gave him a stare that would've scared me, let alone Sherlock.

"Good children." He chuckled before briefly running his eyes over the shopping list. He froze when his eyes came to something. He looked up with a disgusted expression and stared at Sherlock. "Tampax? Panty Liners? Really, Sherlock? I thought we had talked about this the _last _time you did an experiment with them. And I've told you before, using Tampax as nose bleed stoppers is just plain _wrong_."

Sherlock flipped over to his back, gazing steadily at John.

"I didn't put them on the list. You made it perfectly clear that I may not do those experiments whilst you remain here. However, you may want to ask the _woman _who now lives with us if she put it on the list."

John flushed right to the tips of his ears and rather unwillingly turned towards me with a questioning look on his face.

I smirked slightly, indulgently, blushing ever so slightly.

"Sorry." I muttered. "Those would be mine. I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'll go out and get my own if you like-"

"No, no. It's no problem." John assured me, still madly flushing. "It's just, Sherlock...he does...I mean, I never thought..."

"John, you're speaking like an idiot." Sherlock told him calmly, swinging his legs over the sofa, obviously already calm. "Go shopping."

He glanced between us, then nervously bobbed his head.

"Right."

And he was gone.

"Next time we go on a secret mission without John, we're taking a taxi." I panted.

I had finally caught up with Sherlock, who had released my wrist once safely far away from the flat and after confiscating my mobile. He had run what had felt to me about seventy blocks, when, in all likely hood, it was probably only about four.

"No...more...cakes for...me." I panted, doubling over in an effort to get my breath back. "God, I hate you. I need to excersize more."

"Clearly." Sherlock was unimpressed, winding his long fingers around my upper arm and wrenching me to his side so we were both hidden by shadows in an alley way. "Come on, Katie, this is fun."

"This will be fun when hell freezes over." I informed him, my breathing slowly returning to normal.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"That can be arranged."

"Sarcastic bugger. You're worse then Moriarty."

Still holding my arm, Sherlock stiffened.

"You knew him well?" His voice was low, a hiss.

I blinked up at him, surprised. Hadn't I made that perfectly obvious? Frustration clawed at me. He should use all his brain cells. I didn't want to explain again.

"Of course I did." I muttered irritatedly. "He was my sisters lover. He was always around there."

"_One _of your sisters lovers." Sherlock pointed out.

"Her favourite. Of course I got to know him." I wrinkled my nose disgustedly. "You know, he once asked if I wanted to share him with my sister. He was good enough to keep us both entertained." I pretended to yak. "How awful is that? So disgusting."

"Then I suppose you'll be happy to know he'd dead then."

I shrugged.

"Bullet to the head, I know the story."

"I didn't kill him."

"I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not."

"I know you didn't do it."

"Do you?"

"Of course I do. After what we went through..."

"You don't have to talk about it."

"Who's making me?"

"Don't cover it up with irritating questions, Kathleen, I know how your mind ticks."

"Care to enlighten me?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at me before peering around the corner.

"We're not going into a police station. In case you forgot, we're both dead." I protested as he tugged me towards the police station, my hoody tightly wrapped around my head as was his hat, which was, unfortunately, not his famous hat. I was particularly fond of that hat.

"Come on, Katie!" His eyes, so bored and irritated at the flat, turned on me with excitement lit up in them. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Must've left it in the coffin." I replied, a bit tart as I suppressed my fear. "C'mon, Sherlock. I'm clever, not stupid."

"Don't they go hand in hand?" Sherlock's eyebrows puckered in confusion.

"Only in your world." I muttered. "So, how do you propose we get into this place _anyway_?"

"I had thought we would walk."

"Without people spotting you, you irritating git."

"And you."

"I've been dead a lot longer then you, Sherlock. And I didn't make such a spectacle of myself when I was alive in the public eye. People won't recognise me."

"Except Lestrade and them who are looking for us."

I paused, mulling it over.

"Except for them." I agreed.

True to Sherlock's word, we just strolled in. Didn't scale the walls (I had protested loudly against that) and we didn't break in at the dead of night (John would want to come along and chaperone us, according to Sherlock).

Nobody looked up as we approached the desk.

"Now, you ask them some random question, something a normal person would say whilst I set off the alarm." Sherlock whispered to me as we approached.

I looked at him in horror.

"Act like an idiot?" I asked.

Sherlock grinned thinly at me.

"That's my girl."

And he sidled off to one corner, looking like a normal man just playing on his phone.

I sighed and approached the desk alone.

"Excuse me." I asked hesitantly. The woman behind the desk jerked her head up and smiled sweetly at me.

"Yes, how may I help you?" She asked kindly.

I glanced nervously around and the woman instantly became worried.

"My dear, are you ok?"

I sniffled.

"Not really." I confessed. God, I was good at this acting thing. I felt fairly proud of myself. "I'm here because my brother...my brother..." I sniffled some more, trying to think of something to make me cry. Onions. No, they didn't work unless they were actually there...

"Yes?" The woman pressed in concern.

"He's gone missing! I can't find him anywhere!"

I had it! Becoming Sherlock! That would make me cry!

And I burst into loud, nosy tears.

"Oh, my dear!" The woman bustled around the counter to wrap her arm comfortingly around my shoulders. "It's ok, it's good that you came to us. It's ok, please stop crying." She squeeze my shoulders and I started to feel a sickly emotion. Guilt, my therapist had said.

Hmm. Interesting.

"If you could just fill out this form..."

I didn't want to do that. I didn't want anybody to recognise my handwriting.

So instead I continued to cry.

"I don't think I could!" I wailed. "My hands would just shake so badly..."

"Ok, ok, I'll do it." the woman offered hastily, bringing out a pen and scribbling it to make it work. "Alright, dearie. What's your name?"

I sniffled.

"Molly Watson." I sniffled, hoping to get a kick out of this from Sherlock. Molly, after the girl who had helped him fake his death, and Watson, after John.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shift restlessly.

"Ok, Molly." The woman continued to smile. "And how old are you?"

"Twenty three." I murmured. Might as well go a year younger then I was.

"And who is the person you are to report missing?"

_Hurry up, Sherlock_. I hissed in my mind.

"My brother, Patrick Watson." I told her, letting the tears just track down my face.

_Hurry up!_

"Ok, you're doing great." The woman assured me and I smiled back at her.

_Sherlock, if you don't set that alarm off right now..._

"And when did you last-"

WEEEEEE WOOOOO WEEEEE WOOOO WEEEE WOOOO!

The alarm went off with a scream. When I glanced at Sherlock it seemed like he hadn't moved.

Impressive.

"We'll have to do this later." The woman bustled around and tried to propel me towards the door.

Suddenly, Sherlock was there.

"Sorry ma'am." He mumbled, his accent American and his face hidden behind the hat. "I'll take this young woman. You need to go evacuate the rest of the building."

The woman looked flustered.

"Yes, Mr Fortescue, certainly." And she was off.

"How did you know there was an American who worked here?" I hissed and Sherlock grasped my elbow and started directing me towards the back doors.

Sherlock wore that disgusted look on his face.

"Isn't there always?" He asked with a small sneer.

I hit him lightly on the shoulder.

"Don't go being mean about the Americans."

He led us through a deserted passage, the sirens become more distant as we approached a stair way.

He put his finger to his lips and whispered 'hush' to me as we started to make our way upstairs.

Suddenly, there was a sound. Actually, it was Sherlock's voice. Even though his mouth wasn't moving.

'_warning, idiot on the phone, be nice, idiot on the phone, warning_' the phone Sherlock said.

I raised my eyebrows at him as he grappled with the phone.

"Well, at least you're trying to be nice." I said sarcastically as Sherlock threw me a look, answering the phone.

"Hello John...no...we're at the flat, why...well, how do you know... ah...well, that's hardly my fault...you took my gun... and my skull... yes, she's here... no, she's fine... I haven't done anything to her!...no, you can't... she's busy... fine." With a haughty expression, Sherlock held the phone out to me. "He wants to talk to you."

I took the phone, feeling quite cheery suddenly as John's voice filled my ear.

"Katie, are you ok? Has he done anything to you?" John sounded so worried, I was touched. Nobody, except Sherlock and possibly my sister, had ever sounded so concerned for me.

"No, I'm fine." I answered him cheerfully, following Sherlock as he vaulted up the stairs. "How little faith you have in your friend. He hasn't done anything to me."

"Good." John sounded so relieved. "So, where are you? I came back to the flat and you were both gone."

"Oh, we just...went for a walk." I improvised as Sherlock strode along the hallway, jiggling door knobs.

I stayed at the end of the hallway, hip cocked, phone caught between my shoulder and my ear.

"No, you didn't. Sherlock doesn't do _walks_. He does runs. To very dangerous places. Now tell me truthfully, Katie, where are you?"

I shrugged, forgetting he couldn't see me.

"At the police station."

"At the...at the..._what_! Sherlock, the idiot, it was his idea wasn't it? I'll kill him, I'll bloody murder him and make sure he stays bloody dead! How did you manage to get in there without anybody noticing the two of you?"

"Sherlock set of the alarm." I explained, following Sherlock into a room. "It was kind of fun. But I did have to use your last name. Sorry if they follow that up, by the way."

"Right, that's it, I'm coming to get you then the two of you are grounded for however long it takes to keep you from getting yourselves killed." John sounded furious.

"It was Sherlock's idea." I pointed out, pointing to the fridge when Sherlock started to flounder.

"That's the whole problem. Now stay there and I'll-"

"Can't do, i'm afraid." I told him regretfully. "You see, we're suppose to be solving a case. If you want to join us, feel free. However, bare in mind, that you'd be stuck in a cell with both me and Sherlock if we get caught."

"Good point. If you're not back in an hour, I'll come get you."

"That's very generous of you. Now, if you don't mind, I need to go inspect the body Sherlock just tripped over."


	5. The Dead Gets Pissed Off

_**Chapter Five:**_

"Sherlock!" I hissed, snapping the phone shut and swerving around the examining table. "Sherlock!"

His head popped up at the other end of the table and he gave me a look.

"Katie! Katie!" He mimicked.

I pulled a face at him and came around to stare at the body. I left Sherlock to scramble to his feet on his own. He deserved it.

"It's his body." I stated.

"Correct."

"The guy we've been followings body."

"Now you're the one who's trying to keep up."

I ignored him.

"He's actually dead."

"Use your senses, Kat-"

"Shut it, I wasn't asking a question."

We stared down at the body some more. Cold, but with blood still fresh around his head, I deducted that he'd been dead for about twelve hours.

"People are stupid. He's been dead for twelve hours, how could nobody see that?" I demanded, frustrated.

Sherlock shrugged.

"People only see what they want to see."

His words echoed off the silent walls like a megaphone. I turned on him, furious.

"How _dare _you turn this on me?" I hissed. "Don't get over cocky, Sherlock Holmes, because I know things about you that could rip your precious John to shreds."

"Please, you would never spill those. It would cost you your life too." Sherlock seemed completely as ease.

"How can you just...put it behind you?" I demanded.

He shrugged, turning away from me.

"Clearly, you can't."

"Clearly." I hissed at his back. "Don't think I've forgotten Sherlock. Don't think I'll _ever _forget."

His eyes blazed behind his cool façade when he turned on me.

"I did everything a could do."

"It wasn't good enough."

"I couldn't save you all on my own."

"I never _asked _you to save all of us. Just me."

"You had a stupid crush on me."

"Who wouldn't? You were forbidden."

"You know better then to taste forbidden fruit."

"Lucky for you I never did."

"Good god." He was suddenly right in front of me, hands raised as if to take me by the shoulders. I stared up at him, daring him. He wasn't man enough. Old resentments and angers rose up inside me. I squashed them down. There was no time for feelings. No _need _for feelings. I didn't have feelings, not any more.

His hands dropped to his sides again.

"This argument has nothing to do with that body." He turned to stab viciously at the body.

I flared up again.

"The hell it doesn't!"

But he was already kneeling beside to corpse.

"I'd say about twelve hours dead, not yet found, gun shot to the head, inflicted himself."

"Not suicide. Don't be stupid." I hoisted myself up onto the table and observed the body at a safe distance from Sherlock. He wasn't the only one who could handle a gun.

He gave me a grim look.

"I never said it was."

"You were thinking it."

Sherlock shook his head and continued to inspect the body.

"He did shoot himself." he told me firmly. "Don't contradict me on that just because you want to score points against me."

"I don't need to score points." I told him sourly, kicking my legs and narrowly missing him. "I get them with you just speaking."

He ignored my comment.

"Somebody must've forced him. See? Little scratch marks on his hands and up his arms."

"Of course I see them, I'm cleverer then you, remember?"

He glanced up at me, his eyes burning with a strange sort of intensity.

"I suggest you get over it right now." He hissed, standing up and his face was suddenly in mine.

I resisted the tears that started to well up into my eyes. I'd never cried, not since that day, how _dare _he make me cry?

"I can't!" I cried at him furiously, shuffling back. But he leaned in, bracing both arms either side of me and keeping me still, his beautiful, pale eyes locked with my green ones.

"Of course you can. I have."

"It's hard to get over something when your sister has been telling you about it your whole life."

"You don't remember it?"

"Of course I fucking remember it!"

"Then why would you need telling?"

"More like warning, actually."

"Against what?"

"_That_ would be telling."

"And I need to know." His hands slid closer to me, the threat of him trying to hold me in place obvious. "What's she been telling you?" His eyes flickered over my face and he started talking before I could disguise it. "That I'm the bad guy? That I left you there, purposely? That I didn't care? That I used you? What?" Then his eyes widened with understanding as I blanked my face. "Listen to me, Katie. It's her who's doing the wrong, not me. Not you. _Her_."

"How dare you speak about my sister like that?" I flung my words at him like sharp knives. "How _dare _you? She saved me. She saved the rest of us. She brought me up. She _kept _her promises, unlike some I could mention." I gave him a contemptuous glance. "She loved me."

"She used you!" Sherlock whirled away from me, shoving his hands through his dark hair as he almost tripped over the body again.

"The only person who used me is you!" I screamed like a mad woman.

Suddenly, there was a noise, a coughing and the shuffling of feet outside the doorway.

_Man, middle aged, old army officer, gun shot wound to the back of his right calf, tired, tried to go for a run, worked all day, going home for his night in with his wife despite the fact his promised to go out with his mistress._

I blinked as my old habits resurfaced before ducking under the table, waiting for him to pass, with Sherlock and the dead body.

We waited as the army officer grabbed his jacket, sighed heavily and plodded down the stairs again.

"We need to get the body out of here." Sherlock muttered to me, reaching around and tugging at the bodys ankles.

"No shit." I whispered back, turning to slide around to the top end of the body.

I then looked up at him.

"How do you suggest we do this?"

"You carried a body right through the police station and nobody noticed a thing?"

John's mouth didn't seem to be able to close.

I shrugged, reaching forward with a pair of scissors towards the body which John promptly snatched off me.

"Hey! He's dead, he won't feel a thing!" I told him indignantly before turning my back on him and holding up a test tube Sherlock had handed to me. "And to be fair, not many people were there in the first place. They were all still milling around outside."

"That's my hat." John pointed out numbly, grabbing it off the head of the body. "You used a disguise to get a dead corpse out of a police station, that potentially had Lestrade, Donovan and whoever else there was there?"

Sherlock beamed sarcastically at him.

"See John, you're catching up." He then turned towards me. "And we wouldn't have had to move so quickly if Katie hadn't been raising her voice."

"If you hadn't been acting so stupid I wouldn't have had to raise my voice." I retorted, flushing furiously.

John groaned.

"Do you two ever stop arguing?"

"Nope." Came the collective answer.

He sighed and came over as I prodded the body.

"What were you arguing about _this _time?"

"My sister."

John frowned and removed the chopsticks from my hand and gave me a stern look.

"We use them to eat, remember?" He reminded me. "And I have heard of this sister. What's her name?"

"Nina."

Sherlock glared at me over a test tube.

"If you're not even going to tell John the truth you're worse then me."

"I did tell John the truth." I hedged defensively. "Nina is my sister."

"We were arguing about Katie's older, still _hanging around _sister." the words were emphasised by Sherlock practically screaming them at me. He turned back to John. "Who's name is Elodie."

"Elodie?" John's forehead furrowed.

I nodded.

"I just said that John." Sherlock sighed impatiently. "She was Moriarty's boss."

John frowned even more deeply.

"The Moriarty who tried to kill you Moriarty?"

"The very same."

John turned to me with an amazed look on his face.

"Your sister ordered the death of Sherlock Holmes?"

"No!" I cried defensively. "She wouldn't do that. Elodie said he just got a bit, um, out of control."

Sherlock smiled sweetly over at me.

"Well, she does have a reputation for being a lying cow, now, doesn't she?"

"Sherlock!" John called over to him warningly. "That's rude. Apologize."

Sherlock looked pained.

"But I told the truth. Doesn't that deserve praise?"

John flounded for a minute.

"Just apologize." He finally settled on.

"No."

"Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed as though it physically hurt him.

"Sorry."

"Apology accepted." I told him sullenly when John gave me a look. "But you're wrong."

"I'm not wrong!"

"My sister said he went crazy!"

"Your sister tried to kill me!"

"A perfectly sensible idea, I think. Somebody should've done it _years _ago!"

John coughed.

"Really? Guys? You're going to have this argument now whilst theirs a rotting dead body on our dining room table?"

We looked up at him.

"It's not rotting yet." I pointed out fairly reasonably.

"And it's only just starting to smell." Sherlock and I looked at each other baffled. What was the problem?

John opened his mouth, closed it again before shaking his head.

"Clearly you two know more then me about this." He sighed. "But I really don't feel comfortable calling this _the body_. Does he have a name?"

But he was looking at the body with severe distaste.

"Stuart Dockery." I told him surely before glancing at Sherlock. "Dockery, right?"

He smirked slightly.

"Hickery dickery dock. The mouse ran up the clock." He murmured as he sprinkled some of the mixture within the test tube over the bodys- sorry, Stuarts- hand.

I stiffened as his words seemed to come out in slow motion.

John noticed.

"Ok, now what?" He demanded. "I'm getting sick of all this mystery stuff! Would somebody just tell me what's going on?"

Sherlock was shoving Stuarts hand towards his face for closer inspection.

"Careful John, or you'll still be red when your date arrives." He murmured.

I nodded with him, feeling guilty about what we weren't telling him. But still, it couldn't be helped. The moment he found out he'd be shot in cold blood. The. Moment. And, unfortunately, I had enough blood on my hands. And no John to mop it from them like Sherlock had.

And feelings to match. Sigh.

"And she really likes your pale pallor." I confided in him instead, taking some tweezers and picking at the insides of Stuarts finger nails.

John threw up his hands in the air and whirled around to storm into his bedroom.

"I give up with you two. I really do!" He shouted back to us. "But don't say I didn't warn you! I'll find out myself if I have to."

"No you won't!" Sherlock called after him.

"Yes I will."

"No you won't."

"Sherlock, yes, I will."

"Won't."

"Will."

"Won't." 

"Sherlock, I'm not having this argument with you."

John's head popped out of his bedroom, his eyes subconsciously gliding over my form which was still wrapped in his jumper when he'd lent it to me this morning.

"Sorry, do you want it back?" I let a teasing smile play across my lips, hoping to distract him from his argument with Sherlock.

Sherlock's head jerked up and his too surveyed me.

"Careful John, she's not wearing anything underneath." he warned before giving me one last look with a certain glint in his eye before turning back to his work.

John's mouth gaped open.

"What? _Nothing_?"

I shrugged.

"Well, obviously a bra but not much else, I'm afraid." I offered him an apologetic smile. "I'll put it in the wash though, afterwards."

John snapped his mouth shut with an audible _click_.

"No...it's ok..." He stuttered. "I can do it."

I rewarded him with a smile, before turning back to the dirt under his finger nails and slipping it under the microscope.

That's when Sherlock and I heard it.

"Car." We both said to John without looking up. I pursed my lips as I wound the microscope for a better look. "Not your girlfriends. Lestrade."

John sighed and gestured for us to go hide in Sherlock's room.

"What about the body?" I pointed out practically.

"I'll close the dinning room doors." John shrugged, before becoming panicked when we heard Lestrade's voice at the door. "Go on, off you go!"

I glanced up and saw Sherlock giving me a predatory look. I groaned and stood up from what I was doing, trailing into the room ahead of Sherlock. We shut the door. Locked it. Heard the dining room doors slam shut. Heard the flat door open.

"Hello John." There was an underlying tension in Lestrade's voice. "How you doing today?"

"Wow, second visit in two days. If you keep this up, I'll be expecting flowers next." John told him sarcastically.

"Don't play to fool with me John." Suddenly, Lestrade's voice was serious and deadly.

"As Sherlock would say, I don't need to _play_ the fool."

I cringed at John's glaringly obvious mistake.

"First time you've been able to say his name without looking like you're going to cry. Have you finally moved on?"

A pause.

"I'd like you to leave, please."

"Aw, don't be like that. We'll catch up. We are friends, aren't we John? That's what friends do. Have a cup of tea."

"Really, I think you should go."

"Why, what's bothering you? Come, don't keep secrets. Friends don't keep secrets from each other."

"Please go."

"Alright, John, I've had enough." Lestrade was no longer mocking.

"Had enough? Good. Then you can leave."

Lestrade ignored him.

"Look, I know Kathleen's here."

"Kathleen?"

"You know full well who I'm talking about John. Kathleen Arcile."

"Sorry, not ringing a bell."

"Don't mess with me, Dr. Watson." I could practically hear Lestrade's teeth grinding together. I looked up, startled, at Sherlock, who's eyes had gone wide. His hand went to my head whilst his index finger on his other hand pressed softly against his lips.

_Shush_.

Memories of when we were tiny flashed into my mind. Sherlock telling me to shush and go to sleep whilst he crept out. Sherlock telling me about what he'd do when he was big. Sherlock promising to look after me. Sherlock telling me I'd fall of the swing. Sherlock and I proving Einstein's theory of relativity wrong in nursery.

I quickly suppressed them.

"Kathleen's here. I'd wager she's still in the apartment. And you know what? I'm thinking that if Kathleen's here, so's Sherlock."

"What makes you think that?"

"I have Kathleen on CCTV sneaking the dead body out of the police station."

"You knew it was there?"

"So you admit they came to get it?"

"Fuck off."

"Of course I didn't know it was there. God knows how she did. But then again, their type always knows ahead, don't they?"

"Their. Type?"

"Yes, their type. Now, tell me. Am I going to have to find them? Or are they going to come out?"

"I dunno. Depends if your holding a séances any time soon."

I looked up at Sherlock.

"He knows. We might as well tell him and carry on with our investigation." I whispered.

"Will he let us?" Sherlock whispered harshly.

"He'll have to." I told him simply.

He stared down at me.

"Why will he have to?"

"Because I'm me. And you're you. And John's John. And most importantly, Lestrade is _definatly _Lestrade."

"So?"

"You know so."

"Good point. Let's go."

We both charged out of the room, swards at the ready (Figuratively speaking though, of course. I'd left my real swards back at my old house).

"Hello Lestrade!" There was that crazed glint in Sherlock's eye as he greeted the Police inspector.

His eyes widened as he stared at Sherlock, then me.

"Your dead!"

"Apparently, being dead gets rather boring." John put in with a smirk. "That's what they say. And you know how easily their type can get bored."

I smiled sweetly at Lestrade and offered my hand.

"Hello, sir." I greeted him politely. "We have a dead body on our dinning table. Care to join us for lunch?"


End file.
